Borders are more than lines on a map.

Zok and I have had to go to a few Embassies, including the American Embassy this week, for band Visas. I normally enjoy going to an Embassy, they tend to be inside of impressive buildings, sometimes with elegant furnishings. Plus I keep waiting for an E.U. embassy, I envision a sort of Castle slash Mall with each country represented inside perhaps a bit like the 'It's a Small World After All' ride at Disneyland.
All embassies have security, but nothing compares to the security of an American Embassy. There are protocols, there are lockers for your many, many common purse items that are becoming so unacceptable that I am starting to regard my lip gloss to be equal with a smoking cigarette. There are many technical advancements (the scanning of the finger prints, the sci-fi eye thing). Comparatively, one's own embassy is much friendlier experience. Therefore whenever I am in a group, going to the American Embassy, there will be a round of jokes about how all I need to do is open my mouth to speak, and the red carpet will be rolled out for me, as the others are then corralled through a series of questions, finger prints, and retina scans.
While this is an over-statement, there is a bit of truth to that. It is true that I had forgotten my passport but I was allowed in with my Tasmanian drivers license, even though I was also a late addition, without an appointment or purpose. This sort of leniency falls under the protection clause, that one will see in films; scenario: the country comes to unrest and the lead (American) character races to their Embassy not waving a passport but simply calling in their Yank accent "I am an American! Let me in!".
I have dealt and still deal with the trickier side as an immigrant in Australia, so I don't complain when I find myself at "my" embassy, getting preferential treatment. I see others trying to obtain Visas being spoken to over a loud speaker through what looks like bullet proof glass (for the whole room to hear) about why they won't be getting their Visas, meanwhile I am ushered into a secluded, separate room with quiet music and face to face communication.
Whereas my request of renewal, voting information, or extra pages is handled with a sweet murmur of 'Could I get you a cup of Coffee', I can hear others breaking down into tears over being denied into the U.S.
I have come to learn that people crying in the U.S. Embassy is common.
Today, I was geared up with excitement over now knowing that the U.S. Embassy here in Stockholm has a vending machine FULL of American Candy and Soda. I am talking Paydays, Butterfingers, Reese's Cups, Dr. Pepper, A&W; the mother lode, nicely priced as well. So there I am pocket full of change but to get to the machine I need to pass a hysterically crying woman, with her crying infant. Of course even though I know better I freeze, and she glances my way yelling "What kind of people can break up a family?" I have been on the scary side of a Visa and in fact I still kind of am in that place but I am definitely past the crying in the office part. Not that I am not unsympathetic but it isn't as if I know any Senators personally (or can name more than a handful of Senators full stop). Plus I really wanted that Butterfinger.
Zok and I did spend most of the afternoon speculating on what their situation was. "I think SHE was American and HE was Swedish" (Oh definitely says Zok), "Do you think the baby was born here in Sweden?", "Do you think they didn't know about the three months off of American soil waiting period?" "Well they must be married can't they just stay in Sweden?" and we went on and on. Really I just thought if I was her, I would go the easy route and live in Sweden, that is what Zok and I had planned if my Visa to Australia was denied. Australia is complicated and costly but the U.S. was much more so. Sweden is much easier than either. It has been nagging at me a bit, and I have been speculating on excuses all day because until all the criteria is met and the paperwork approved, if our world fell into unrest like an old movie, Zok and I wouldn't have the same Embassy to run too.